If the members of Pansy troop could have consulted their own wishes, they would have held a Scout meeting as soon as all the girls had arrived at school. But Miss Phillips had declared that such a thing was impossible; there were too many other matters to attend to.

School had opened on Thursday, and the first real event outside of the regular program had been the sophomore reception. It was not until over a week afterward, on Friday evening, that the Girl Scouts met for the first time.

The meeting was scheduled for seven-thirty, but by a quarter after the hour, everyone of the fifteen girls had arrived.

Every Scout wore her uniform; as each one entered the little room which had been set aside by Miss Allen for the troop, she saluted the Captain, who sat at a desk in the front. It seemed like old times; only the two seniors, who had been graduated, were missing. The present members could not help thinking of them.

"Too bad we can't stay at Miss Allen's forever," remarked Marjorie; "it seems awful to think we had to lose two Scouts."

"But we'll get more," observed Ruth, optimistically, who had never been a girl of deep friendships.

"And next year Edith and Helen will be gone," continued Marjorie—"and the others."

For an instant she came face to face with the great fact that has staggered the individual since the beginning of civilization—the realization of the ceaseless passage of time. Marjorie reflected, with a certain sense of sadness, that she too must graduate, and leave the school and the Scout troop to younger girls. The thought sobered her; it was with an effort that she turned her attention to the Captain, as she called the Scouts to order.

"We shall begin a trifle early," explained Miss Phillips, "since everybody is here, for there is a great deal to talk about. Now—Troop, Attention!"

The usual opening ceremony was performed, together with the recitation of the Scout laws and pledge. It was so familiar to them all that they hardly thought of the words as they repeated them; to Marjorie, however, they were impressive, for she had not been a member of the troop so long as the other girls.

The treasurer made her statement, and the dues were collected. As there were no committees to report, the Captain proceeded immediately to "old business."

"I suppose you are all eager to hear about our troop's Good Turn," she began, "and I am very glad to be able to tell you something favorable. But first, for the benefit of the girls who were not at camp, let me explain that the troop met and decided to send a poor, ignorant, badly brought-up country girl to public school in this town, and to pay her board and buy her clothing all year. Her name is Frieda Hammer. And, as you all know, although her mother promised to send her the day before school opened, she did not arrive. I have since learned that she kept her at home because the baby was sick, but intends to send her this Saturday."

Marjorie's eyes shone. Their plan was to succeed after all! Ruth had been mistaken; when Frieda began to develop and make progress, perhaps Ruth would be sorry for the distrustful attitude she had taken! And think what it would mean to Frieda—a girl of her own age! Now she would have pretty clothes that the Scouts would buy her, live in a lovely home in the village, where the Scouts would pay her board, and go to the public school. She would meet nice girls, develop friendships, and have the opportunity to study and prepare herself to make something worth while of her life. She would be just like Cinderella—and the Scouts would be the fairy godmother!

"But where shall we get the money, Captain?" demanded Ruth. She made no attempt to conceal her disapproval of the project; she would have preferred to direct the troop's attention to earning money for the following summer's outing.

"That is what we must talk about this evening," replied Miss Phillips. "But in the meantime, we have twenty-six dollars in the treasury. Mrs. Johnson, in the village, tells me she will board Frieda for the special rate of six dollars a week—she's interested in her, too, and would like to help us—so what would you all say to paying twelve dollars in advance for board, and spending the other fourteen on some clothing?"

"Great! Splendid!" cried the girls.

"But how about our Hallowe'en party!" pouted Ruth. "Aren't we going to have any more good times ourselves?" Then, noticing the spirit of antagonism that her remark had aroused, she hastened to add, "I wouldn't mind if I thought Frieda would appreciate it. But I'll bet she won't! She'll steal again, just like she did at camp!"

Miss Phillips held up her hand to caution Ruth not to go any farther; and Frances Wright, who, next to Marjorie, had been most interested in the girl from the start, protested vehemently.

"Ruth!" she cried, disdainfully, "you surely don't think that!"

"Yes, she does!" exclaimed Marjorie impulsively. "She doesn't trust——"

"Girls!" remonstrated the Captain, rising from the chair to take command of the situation. "We will have no more discussion about the matter. We shall simply vote on the motion—if someone will be kind enough to make one—to spend the twenty-six dollars that we have in the treasury on board and clothing for Frieda Hammer."

The motion was made and carried by an overwhelming majority, and Miss Phillips asked Frances Wright to accompany her to the city the following Saturday to meet the girl when she should arrive.

"Now we must discuss other ways to raise money," continued the Captain. "Several of the girls have suggested a Christmas bazaar. This I consider a splendid plan, so if you are all in favor of it, we shall start in making things for it immediately. But, of course, we cannot hold that until December, and we shall need money before then. So has anyone else a proposal?"

The resourceful Marjorie arose to her feet. After giving the customary salute, she began:

"The other day, when I was out in my canoe on the lake, it occurred to me how lovely it must be there at night. I kept wishing we could have some sort of party on the water, and then the idea came to me to have a sort of Japanese fÊte, and charge admission. We could hire Japanese lanterns, and put up two or three attractive booths to sell refreshments, and I could sell rides in my canoe—maybe we could hire two or three extra boats for the occasion—and maybe tell fortunes, or something like that. Do you suppose," she concluded, "that we could get Miss Allen's permission?"

Miss Phillips did not need to ask for an expression of opinion; she could read from the Scouts' faces their approval of the plan. As a mere matter of form, she called for a vote upon the question, and when the suggestion was unanimously adopted, a date was selected, and Marjorie herself appointed chairman of the committee.

"And now," said the Captain, "I have a lovely invitation for you!"

"The Boy Scouts?" cried Ruth, joyfully.

"Not this time, Ruth. No—it's from Miss Martin's school. They want us to visit them, I think to give a Scout demonstration. And then, I believe, they intend to start a rival troop."

"I would love to see some other Girl Scouts," said Edith Evans. "Won't it be great to have a sister troop!"

"Yes, indeed," agreed the Captain. "But I am not willing to take fifteen Scouts—not even two patrols, you know—over there to demonstrate. I asked Miss Watson, the gym teacher at Miss Martin's, to postpone the invitation until after the first of November, when our reports come out and the hockey team is chosen. That will give us an opportunity to fill up our troop; indeed, I hope we have at least three, and maybe four full patrols!"

"Do you really expect so many freshmen to meet the requirements, Captain?" asked Frances.

"No, not only freshmen. I think some more upper classmen will qualify—girls like Mae VanHorn, for instance, who just fell a trifle short last year."

"Would it be possible, Captain," suggested Marjorie, shyly, "to make Frieda a Girl Scout? Couldn't she be an honorary member, or something?"

But Miss Phillips wisely shook her head.

"No; in one respect, Ruth was right—we must not expect a lot from her at first. Frieda Hammer is a girl who has never been taught right from wrong, and we must go very slowly. If she proves worthy, perhaps we can take her in later, although I would prefer to let her wait till she passes our school examinations, and has a chance to enter just like any other girl. We all appreciate things we have to work hard for, you know!"

"We certainly do!" agreed Marjorie, emphatically; and Ruth, sensitive to the reference, could not control the flush that spread over her face.

"And now for Scouting itself," concluded the Captain; "for we must not neglect that. We shall probably go for a hike Saturday a week, if it is clear, and then we are going to study definitely for our first-class test. I made a big mistake when I thought you could pass it in two weeks' time at camp. But then I was going by the old handbook, and in the new one it is much more difficult; the signalling alone will probably require two months' study. I am going to ask Mr. Remington, the Boy Scoutmaster, to give the final test in the semaphore and Morse code, and every other requirement must be passed with the same thoroughness. If my dream comes true, the first class Scouts of Pansy troop will be able to go anywhere—even to National Headquarters—and pass the stiffest examination the Director herself could give, bringing credit to Pansy troop!"

"Whew!" exclaimed Ruth. "I sort of miscalculated at camp, didn't I?"

The girls laughed at the recollection of the episode of kidnapping Frieda's sister.

"Frieda will never forgive me for that," she added; "I guess I can never hope to become her friend!"

"I guess you don't care much!" remarked Ethel, with a touch of sarcasm in her tone.

"Well, I don't believe it's going to do any good!" she flashed back. "You mark my words—Frieda Hammer can't be trusted!"

"Girls!" expostulated Miss Phillips again. "Come to order! We shall now review our semaphore alphabet. Lineup! Troop, attention! Right dress!"

When the meeting was over, Marjorie and Lily sauntered slowly back to their room.

"I was so happy about Frieda," said Marjorie, a shade of discouragement creeping into her voice, "till Ruth threw such cold water on the project. Do you believe it will work out all right, Lil?"

"I believe everything will work out all right," replied the other girl optimistically. "After you won the canoe, and I was elected class president against Ruth, I feel as if nothing we ever really want will fall through. So please don't worry, Marj!"

And Marjorie decided that she would adopt Lily's cheerful view of the situation—and wait. In a little over a week, Frieda would arrive; from the very beginning Marjorie would adopt so friendly an attitude that it would be impossible for the girl to treat her indifferently.

"For kindness always wins in the end," she thought, as she turned out the pretty boudoir lamp beside her bed.